


no revisions

by walking_through_autumn



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_through_autumn/pseuds/walking_through_autumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>they’re the halo of guilt hanging around your neck,</i><br/><i>next to the rosary you count, falling asleep.</i><br/> </p><p>He meets the young man in a seaside town. They resume telling each other their stories.</p><p>Amon’s story told in eight and one parts. </p><p>Written for Amon Koutarou’s birthday 2015 (April 07).</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for Amon Koutarou’s birthday (April 07). Title and parts of the fic borrowed from “Asleep in the Chapel” by Thursday. Hope you enjoy! :)

**20XX**

Whenever it was the man’s turn to guess he was always given a set of vague instructions. He eventually got used to it. The day was easy enough (this month it was the first Saturday), and the set of numbers that came after that was usually the coordinates. Then there’d be a book title for good measure, forcing him to figure out the last bit for the arranged meeting place.

It was never too difficult though, since it usually ended up being the only café (if it were a small town) or the café with the best coffee (which needed slightly more work on his part, but he didn’t mind).

This month’s set of instructions brought him to a quaint seaside town he doubted anybody in Tokyo knew about. He liked it, the scent of the sea and the friendliness of the locals to a visitor like him. When he asked about a café with a goat sign he was pointed to – he guessed right – the only café in town.

Why a seaside town had a goat on its signboard he would never know. He supposed he was let off easy this month though, with a title like _The Black Goat’s Egg_ in the instructions.

He pushed open the door and his shoulders relaxed at the scent of good, strong coffee. The waitress looked startled to see him – possibly because he was taller than the average townsperson around here, or possibly because he was just new to the town.

He ordered a cup of black coffee and settled down to wait.

.

**1989**

_wake up, wake up in an outline and try to speak  
with the shattered voice of the lives we lead_

He woke up to the smell of baked sweets.

It was still early – five, six at the earliest, from the soft light he could see filtering through the curtains. The other children were still asleep; Kazuki, on the upper bunk, made a soft sound and turned over in his sleep.

Koutarou quietly got up and dressed in the darkness. He was especially careful with the buttons on his shirt – once he had been awfully teased by Father for buttoning wrongly in his haste.

Before any of the other children stirred, he slipped out of the room and padded down the hallway in his soft indoor shoes, following the sweet smell to its source. At the kitchen he stopped and peeked around the doorway, a small smile spreading when he saw Father looking through the oven door, his back facing the kitchen doorway. Father’s back was tall and strong in his black cassock.

“I know it’s you there, Koutarou.”

He jumped. He thought he had been very quiet. He had even been careful not to rustle his clothes too much.

Father started to laugh, his back still facing the doorway. “You were not as sneaky as you thought, Koutarou! Now come in here.”

Koutarou stepped into the kitchen, head bowed and very meek. “Good morning, Father,” he said.

Father turned around with a smirk. He gestured for Koutarou to come closer, and when Koutarou was next to him he ruffled the boy’s hair. Koutarou closed his eyes and leaned into Father’s palm.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Father asked. He looked away from the oven door and lifted Koutarou onto his hip. Koutarou wanted to protest that he was a big boy already, all of six years old, but he clung around Father’s neck anyway. “Bad dreams?”

Koutarou shook his head. Sometimes he still had nightmares, but they didn’t visit him so often anymore. “No,” he said. He looked through the oven door with round eyes. There were light brown, round pastries in there. He could feel his mouth watering. “I smelt something sweet,” he said.

Father laughed again, and Koutarou could feel the vibrations through his body. “So it was your stomach that woke you up, eh!” Father said.

Koutarou nodded and said, “Yes.” Father was warm and his laughter sounded warm too.

Father shook his head and said, “Such an honest boy.” It made Koutarou happy to hear that; mum and dad always told him to be honest. “Know what date today is, Koutarou?”

“April the 7th,” he said.

“That’s right. And know what’s special about today?” Father asked.

Koutarou tilted his head to the side and said, quietly, “It’s my birthday.”

“Right again! So we’ll have a special treat for breakfast,” Father said, his eyes twinkling. He used his chin to point to the oven.

Koutarou looked, and this time the pastries were closer to a golden brown colour, not just light brown anymore. “What are they?” he asked.

“These, Koutarou, are donuts,” Father replied.

“Donuts,” the boy repeated.

“We’ll eat them with everybody else later. Sounds good?” Father said.

Koutarou nodded. Then his smile dimmed a little, and he said, “I wish Nina were here too.”

“Well, she’s with a loving family now, and that’s a good thing, right?” Father said.

That was true. It didn’t stop Koutarou from feeling a little bit lonely. But he still bravely smiled at Father and nodded.

Father chuckled and put him back down on the floor. Koutarou couldn’t really see the donuts from here, but he could cling to the leg of Father’s cassock and smell the sweet scent in the air.

.

**20XX**

She was curious about him. Where he was from and why he made a trip all the way out here.

He kept his answers polite and suitably vague. Said he was a traveler and was supposed to meet a friend here.

“Ah,” she said, and she smiled at him while serving him his coffee.

She seemed to have gone all out to impress. Beside the cup of coffee there was a daintily decorated biscuit. There was a hopeful look in her eyes.

He smiled and thanked her.

.

**1993**

_have we slept too long  
between the bullet holes in a stained-glass window state?_

Wednesday, Koutarou had just turned ten, and he was kneeling in a pew with the children. The sunlight that filtered through the stained glass window was gentle, and Father’s strong voice washed over them as he read God’s word.

_“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”_

Koutarou kept his eyes closed as he murmured the words under his breath, following the smooth, confident way Father read the verses.

Later, the children were released to play wherever they so wished, and after Koutarou made sure that little Akie was happily making castles in the sand pit under the watchful eye of a volunteer, he ran off to find the priest. He had grown taller, and his ankles showed beneath the legs of his trousers.

“Father!” he called when he found the priest stowing away the Bible in his office.

Father laughed. “I can hear you just fine, Koutarou. No need to shout.”

Koutarou sheepishly grinned and muttered, “Sorry.”

Father straightened up from keeping the Bible and walked towards the doorway. His hair was gray and his eyes still twinkled like he was about to tease or play a prank on someone. He slung an arm around Koutarou’s shoulders and said, “So what is it?”

“Ah – um, well. Father, what day is it today?” Koutarou asked, trying not to sound too excited.

Father hummed and steered Koutarou to walk along the corridor with him. “A Wednesday, the middle of the week,” he said.

Koutarou pouted and said, “I meant – what is the date?”

Father put his free hand to his chin and stroked the short beard there. “Oh dear, oh dear. My mind fails me. It’s a gorgeous April day, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah,” Koutarou said. He seemed to be vibrating with impatience. “You know the date, Father. Don’t you?”

“Hmm…” Father’s smile twitched. He raised his hand to hide it and pretended to be deep in thought. Then he snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes! April the 7th.”

“Yeah!” Koutarou said with a beam. He turned to look at Father, not paying any attention to where they were headed.

“A lovely day,” Father said with a nod. “April the 7th and a Wednesday.”

“And?” Koutarou prompted.

“And?” Father echoed.

The boy’s pout was out in full force. “Father…”

“Now now, Koutarou, whining is very unbecoming of you. Help me with the lunch preparations, won’t you?”

Koutarou turned to see they were in the kitchen. Father removed his arm from around his shoulders and pushed his back in the direction of the fridge. “Help me take out the vegetables. Ah, and the meat too, it’s marinated in a bowl.”

Koutarou thought he could feel his heart sink as Father put on an apron. But he reminded himself that he was a big boy now, a big brother, and it would not do to be childish. He swallowed the lump in his throat and went to open the fridge door.

Three seconds later, Father felt a ten year old slam into his back and arms wrap around his middle.

Father laughed in loud guffaws. “Finally saw it then, eh?”

He felt the boy nod against his back. “Thank you, Father,” Koutarou muttered.

The priest laughed and said, “Silly child of mine. Now, I really do need the food for lunch. Don’t you touch the cake until after we’ve had lunch!”

Koutarou giggled and said, “Yes, Father!” He ran back to the fridge and took out the vegetables and meat, grinning at the cake with icing looped in the words _Happy Birthday, Koutarou!_

.

**20XX**

From this table he was able to look out the window and see the sea beyond the furthest edge of town.

It was a little windy today. The sky remained a light gray from the morning rain. The man looked for the waitress – from what he could hear she seemed to be busy in the kitchen with some baking, and after he checked once more that she wasn’t at the counter he slid open the glass a little.

The wind brought with it the smell of salt.

.

**1996**

_and we’re praying  
these are the symptoms of letting go of all our hope_

On Koutarou’s thirteenth birthday there was a sudden April shower.

The Academy officials noted that he had turned thirteen and was to be placed in the Academy junior high school.

.

**20XX**

He squinted a little. He thought he could see a small figure in the distance, making his way up the path to the café.

He waited for a while to be sure. The window was slid close, and just a second later the waitress came out from the kitchen, humming to herself.

She looked over at him and her face seemed to fall a little when she saw the biscuit was still uneaten, though he was already a third through his coffee.

He looked at the biscuit. Then he picked it up.

She waited until he had finished chewing and swallowing then asked, not hiding her anxiety, “How is it?”

He nodded and said, “Delicious.”

.

**2000**

_someday we’ll be complete like modern saints,_  
_baptize our kids in gasoline_  
_and hang our doubts up in cathedrals_  
_so that they turn to faith in the coloured sunlight_

Harima was a cheerful girl who liked to bake biscuits and was one of the few to know about Amon’s sweet tooth. The weekends would find her in the kitchen without fail, baking something using ingredients she had bought with her allowance.

They were seventeen, seniors in the Academy, and were given single rooms. Amon had become used to Harima knocking on his door, waiting for three seconds, then entering regardless of whether he said anything. She had appointed herself as his caretaker, which meant frowning at him whenever he worked too hard and pulling him out for a friendly _kendo_ match or badminton game or whatever it was that came to her mind. Amon always found himself giving in.

He was making notes on a case study when there was a knock on his door. Three firm taps, which was Harima’s way of knocking. He said, “Come in.”

Harima swung the door open and closed it behind her. “Studying hard again, Koutarou?” she asked.

He gave her a brief smile. “It’s the case study Instructor Shinohara gave us today.”

“Ahh, that one,” she said. She looked over his shoulder at the scribbles he had made, then pointed to a paragraph and said, “You might want to note the use of _quinque_ here.”

“Ah,” Amon said. He looked at the paragraph and nodded, then made a note. “Thanks, Harima.”

“No problem,” she said, still reading over his shoulder. From this distance Amon could smell the scent of dough.

He raised an eyebrow. “You were baking again?” he asked.

She laughed and walked away to sit down on the edge of his bed. “Special permission,” she said with a wink. “The kitchen ladies were very kind to let me use the kitchen.”

“Hmm.” He looked at her – she seemed entirely at home here, relaxed and in casual clothes. There was a packet of baked goods in her lap. “Why didn’t you wait till tomorrow?”

She shook her head and said, in mock disappointment, “Amon Koutarou, you cannot tell me you have forgotten what today is.”

 _Ah_ , he thought, after glancing at the calendar on the table. He did forget the day.

She rolled her eyes like she had already expected it. “Happy Birthday, you absent-minded man,” she said, and she placed the packet of baked goods on his table.

He smiled. “That absent-minded bit was unneeded…but thank you,” he said, and he opened the packet of biscuits and gestured for her to take one.

.

**20XX**

The bell tinkled above the door, for the first time since he had entered. The waitress looked at the door like she was expecting a local customer, then she stared when the second visitor of the day came in.

The young man took off his cap and fluffed his hair. It was a beautiful shade of white she had only seen on older people in this town.

“Ah, a black coffee for me, please,” he said, with a smile.

He looked around and his smile widened when he saw the man already seated in the café. He made his way over, unbuttoning his coat as he did so, and said, “Hey.”

“Mm,” the other man said, and he used his leg to push out the chair across from him a little so the young man could sit comfortably.

 _Oh, so that’s the friend he’s meeting_ , the lady thought, as she busied herself making another cup of coffee. She smiled and prepared to take out another of the café’s specialty biscuits.

.

**2006**

_white light, white heat we’ll make  
as we’re blacking out in the center lane_

_It is_ , Mado had said the day before, _a necessary visit. You know him. Donato Porpora – “Priest” he is called._

Amon nodded. He told himself it was part of the training he needed if he wanted to improve himself. He remained silent on the journey there, and Mado didn’t attempt to engage him in talk. The older man hummed to himself under his breath, occasionally tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Amon closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally. He thought he felt Mado look at him for a moment, then the moment passed.

Kokuria was larger than he had imagined. He hadn’t thought there would be so many ghouls captured alive. Their guide led them down a few flights, going around and around until Amon was no longer sure how far down they have travelled. They reached the cell, and the steel door looked the same as any other, made of special material that prevented escape.

Amon felt himself begin to tremble, and he clenched his hands into fists to stop it. He tried to concentrate on their guide keying in the passcode. Each buzz was a tiny assault on his ears, and the whirr of the door sliding open as clear as a death knell. Even from this distance he could see the prisoner behind the glass, turning around slowly to face the doorway.

Mado stepped through the doorway calmly, like he was just making a social call, and said, “Hello, Priest.” Like they were old friends. Like they were having a tea party.

Their guide bowed and the door slid close. Amon tried to take steady breaths, feeling the memories – _unwanted_ memories – slamming into him and fighting for his attention. Images of the man behind the glass standing behind an altar, under a looming cross. The memory of him laughing.

The ghoul nodded at Mado’s greeting, but he was obviously not interested in him. He looked straight past Mado and his smile slowly began to widen. “Why, my dear son,” Donato said, and the words came out like a purr.

Amon gritted his teeth and said, “I am not your son.”

He chuckled, and seemed to be slowly taking in his appearance. Amon glared at him through the glass. His hair was white, when in his memories it had always been gray. His shoulders and back seemed smaller now that he was no longer wearing a cassock.

Amon was taller than him now. He would be able to lift the priest if he tried.

“It has been a long time,” Donato said, fond and cheery like they were merely reuniting. “I see you’ve become an investigator. So you could hunt down ghouls like me?”

Amon scowled at him. Donato started chuckling, softly at first, then louder and louder until they were more like guffaws, like he was truly tickled. He said, “That makes your father proud.”

Amon growled and said, “I have no such father like you.”

“Ah, easy to understand as always,” Donato said. “So tell me, son. How does it feel to kill a ghoul? Feels good to rip apart their flesh?”

“Shut up,” Amon said. He could feel himself begin to tremble from how hard he is clenching his fists. He was beginning to remember things he did not want to: Kazuki’s body on the table, hands limp; a priest ruffling his hair and golden brown pastries in an oven. “Ghouls like you don’t deserve to live,” he said, loud enough to drown the laughter in his memory.

“We don’t, eh?” Donato shook his head and laughed, and the sound mingled with those of his memories. “Of course we don’t. Of course.”

There was silence for a while, punctuated only by Amon taking deep, shaky breaths. He turned his face away and stared at the wall instead. Mado, quiet up till now, took a glance at him then stepped forward.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much time to exchange more pleasantries. You see, Priest, we need your help deciphering something,” Mado said.

Donato seemed to have briefly forgotten Mado’s presence; his eyes slid slowly from Amon to Mado, and his smile remained as he said, “Yes.” He pulled out the chair on his side. “I wouldn’t want to delay your investigation.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mado said, and he sat down in his chair too. “Amon, help me take notes, won’t you?”

Amon breathed out slowly. He slid a notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket and tried to focus on the paper, ignoring Donato staring at him. The pen was shaking in his grip.

“Yes, Mado,” he said, and he pretended not to hear what sounded like a very quiet chuckle from Donato’s end.

.

**20XX**

They started with trivial things. The weather, the cherry blossoms that were in full bloom, the tranquility of this town. There was a slight pause in conversation, and almost as though they didn’t want to pry but had to know, asked if the other had eaten.

The waitress, who served the second cup of coffee with a biscuit and refilled the first cup, wondered why they both seemed to smile in shared understanding and pain when they each replied, “Yes.”

.

**2008**

_since we can’t compete with martyred saints_  
_we’ll douse ourselves in gasoline_  
_and hang our bodies from the lampposts_  
_so that our shadows turn into bright light_

She was the only one left who would remember his birthday. Even Amon himself forgot his birthday sometimes.

In her will, she had stated that in the event of anything happening to her, that her _quinque_ be passed on to Amon.

 _“After all,”_ she had said before she left for her mission, half in jest, _“I can’t just hand Doujima over to any random investigator.”_

He remembered the taste of the biscuits, her warm smile, and when he opened his eyes all that was left was the heavy weight of Doujima in his hands.

.

**20XX**

The conversation felt more relaxed after that, more natural. There was a comment on books, new titles that had arrived on the market; the tall man remarked on the places he had travelled to and what he found interesting.

There were serious things too. Things the waitress had always thought were just urban legends. About people being murdered and – she shuddered – being _eaten_. They both frowned and put their heads together when the topic came up, like they were professionals at this and were used to analyzing cases.

It was all a little too much for her sensibilities. She decided that while they still had their cups full of coffee she could afford to pop into the kitchen to check on the pastries.

.

**2012**

_red rain, red rain we’ll make  
as we’re blacking out in the center lane_

In his hours of uneasy sleep he dreamt. About food, mostly. Things he used to be able to enjoy. About the people who ate the food with him. Akira drinking herself into a stupor, Shinohara clapping him on the back as Amon shared his worries, Nakajima treating him in the small roadside shop, Harima laughing and placing a packet on his table.

Father quietly slipping a cake into the fridge on his twelfth birthday, thinking that he hadn’t noticed.

His mind was tearing itself into two, the same way his stomach seemed to be rending his body. He shuddered and curled himself into a tighter ball, refusing to believe this was happening. The meat near him, the way his mouth salivated against his will – the cries from Takizawa in the room next to his, his junior sounding less and less like himself as the days went by.

The meat was never taken away, not truly. Just removed and replaced by a fresh portion, sometimes the same size, sometimes a larger portion than from the day before. Different parts. A thigh; an arm; a buttock.

He tried to drown the hunger with water.

His stomach did not recognize water as sustenance. It continued tearing at him, making it such that his brain could not process anything other than hunger.

He tried to sleep.

He kept hearing _his_ laughter, his own younger voice saying _Ghouls like you don’t deserve to live_ and _that_ voice saying, like he was being mocked, _We don’t, eh? Of course we don’t._ And sometimes his own childish laughter too, as his hair was being ruffled or as they shared a joke.

He woke up, hungrier than ever, cheeks wet with tears and chin wet with saliva. It was a heart on the plate in front of him.

He gave in and tasted human flesh for the first time in his life.

It tasted better than anything he had eaten before.

.

**20XX**

At some point after the waitress had gone into the kitchen, there was a lull in the conversation. They both sipped their coffees, enjoying the fragrance and the taste.

Then the young man said, “Shall I continue from where I left off last month?”

His partner nodded. Then he stilled, as though remembering something. He said, “Ah, before you begin, could you tell me – ”

.

**2014**

_(we swerve) to the beat, (spill) all the ink, (no revisions)_

He had to stop at one point. To just breathe for a moment and gulp in air and water. The only thing he never let go of was the long stick in his hand. It was utterly useless against a ghoul; it allowed him to pretend he was holding Doujima or Kura.

The water did not wash away the foul taste in his mouth. It was like fish, but the nasty part of it; like the bitter meat near the belly, or guts that had been left to rot in the sun.

He wondered if this was what had happened with the young man, the one he was determined to hunt down.

He took another gulp of water and told himself that it was enough. That the taste of rot and death which remained on the back of his tongue would fuel him for another month.

He continued running.

.

**20XX**

_do you hear the church bells ringing?_

_they ring for you._

There were few visitors in this quiet seaside town, and even fewer people in this café. The cherry blossom trees in this town were in full bloom and could be seen from the large window overlooking the sidewalk.

The bell above the café door tinkled. Two men looked up and saw a young girl standing in the doorway. She looked at them with curious eyes, then beamed and waved at them.

One man waved back, and the other smiled. They watched her bounce up to the counter and patiently wait. After a few seconds the waitress came out from the kitchen and greeted the little girl. The waitress chatted with the girl, both of them on first name terms with the other, and the girl’s laughter rang throughout the quiet space.

The men turned their attention back to each other.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“Ah…I was just wondering what the date was,” the tall man replied.

His partner chuckled and said, “You’ve been travelling so long you’ve forgotten the date, Amon?”

Amon flushed. It was true he couldn’t refer to a handy calendar on the table anymore, but it was still a bit of an embarrassing thing. He muttered, “It happens. Don’t laugh, Eyepatch.”

The man was not wearing an eyepatch. Both of his gray eyes were visible and were twinkling. Still, he responded to the name with a grin. “It’s, ah, April the 7th.”

“That so,” Amon said, and he took another sip of coffee. It was the right temperature now, cool enough that he could drink it without scalding his tongue. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Why did you want to know?” he asked.

Amon shrugged. “No reason.” He heard the little girl laugh again as the waitress brought out a cake and pastries the girl had ordered. He smiled and said, “Anyway, you were at the part about – mm – waking up in the CCG?”

“Oh, yeah, that,” Eyepatch said. He grimaced a bit and took a sip of coffee. “Not the most pleasant awakening, to be honest. I suppose what happened was – ”

Amon nodded as he listened, eyes focused on Eyepatch. He inhaled the sweet scent of coffee and baked pastries as his partner continued his story.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated :)


End file.
